


Supernatural Directions

by ThorinBilbo



Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Brittany and Santana are engaged, Dean and Santana become besties, Dean is not Happy, F/F, F/M, Kurt and Blaine are the computer geeks, Kurt and Blaine are the ultimate shippers, M/M, Multi, Rachel and Sam become besties, Sam thinks Quinn is the prettiest girl he's ever seen, The gals are hunters, and they're married - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThorinBilbo/pseuds/ThorinBilbo
Summary: They needed their help, desperately so. But Dean was reluctant. He found them annoying, complete amateurs waiting to be killed on the field. Unfortunately, the pushy one, or just Santana Lopez, demands their attention. Her fiancée was missing, and she intended to find her, and it seemed the best way to do so was come into contact with the Winchester boys, the same hunters that started and ended the apocalypse that could have destroyed the earth. Sam isn't so peeved about it, not if he gets to have an eyeful of Quinn Fabray on the daily. Dean, however, is frustrated beyond belief. Way beyond belief. | Dean/Rachel | Sam/Quinn | Santana/Brittany | Kurt/Blaine |
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Dean Winchester/Rachel Berry, Sam Winchester/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce





	Supernatural Directions

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be framed similar to the television series. Several chapters will be of different hunts, while other chapters concern the main plot of the story. There is no set time period within the Supernatural series other than Bobby is dead and they live in the bunker. Jack is not in this story, unfortunately. As for the Glee series, this takes place after season three.

**Dean Winchester's Point of View**

* * *

The bar was relatively empty tonight. Granted, taking into consideration how the everyday Joe works, tonight was considered a work night. Those with legitimate jobs couldn't waste their times sitting on bar stools and downing whatever bitter or fruity drink Lorena had to offer; Lorena was the bartender and bar owner for this establishment in northern Lebanon, Kansas. Dean liked it here. Lorena was sweet on the boys and she always saved the same booth for them because they were regulars. He was nursing a beer, sitting comfortably across from his brother who typed away with his phone, eyebrows knitted together and lips curved downward. Dean was tempted to ask, but he worried that would lodge him in a long mantra on what was bothering Sammy. And, right now, he was content with the silence. 

Unfortunately, Sam was apparently a telepath and decided to answer Dean's mental question. 

"Cas hasn't been answering any of my calls or text messages," he said, at last putting his phone down. "Nada for two months now."

"Awe, should I be jealous?" Dean jokes, taking a small swig, before grunting as Sam aimed a kick for his shin. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Aren't you just the least bit worried? Cas hasn't talked to us for two whole months. Could mean another all-out brawl upstairs that we have no idea about. I'm just...worried," Sam sighed, at last grabbing his beer as though this is the first he's seen it and two three large gulps.

"Personally, Sammy, I think we should leave it up to Cas when he decides to pop down. I think you're being just a little bit clingy," Dean comments, looking around. He had hoped, despite the worknight atmosphere, some chick would wander in that wasn't too old for him. Other than Lorena, however, the bar was a huge sausage fest. He eyed Lorena, who was wiping down one of the glasses. He had already tried. She was tall and lean with long curly brown hair that framed her angular face perfectly. She bore dark hazel green eyes and she had a curvy body most male patrons liked to ogle. But Lorena made it quite clear her type required machinery he didn't have. He also got the feeling she was secretly seeing her cook, Allison. 

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, accusing. 

"Trying to see if there was anyone else I could spend my evening with that don't require a whole lot of talking. You should do the same. Unless you wanna just call up Cas again-" Dean elicited a very uncharacteristic yelp when Sam aimed a kick at his shin once more. "Son of a bitch, Sammy, you really need to lighten up. I'm just kidding." 

"Anyway, you really wanna try to get lucky tonight after the week we just had?" Sam asked, taking another drink. "Sirens are such pains in the ass, and you definitely made yourself comfortable with miss Kitty Velo-"

"Hey, shut it," Dean snaps, this time kicking at Sam's shin. His younger brother winced as he continued, "I was vulnerable and lonely. Plus, Kitty did that thing I like where they get up on the counter and-" He stopped, seeing the look on Sam's face. "Whatever, man, we ganked her. End of story."

"No, _I_ ganked her."

"Only because I let you. Someone had to distract it, and it clearly couldn't take the form of Cas to shut you up, so-"

"One more time, Dean, I'm gonna give you one more time before I jump over this table and-"

"And what? Whip me with your lustrous hair?"

" _Boys!_ "

Lorena had somehow gotten to their booth with neither of them noticing, fists on her hips as she glared her too-pretty eyes down at them. 

"Dude, this bar is dead tonight and somehow you've both made yourselves the main event." she chastises.

"Sorry," Sam mumbles, his eyes not leaving Dean's. "Just a little wired tonight. It's been...a long week." 

"I'm sorry to hear that, but you guys gotta keep it down. If you're waiting for any eye candy to show up you're fresh outta luck. The Black Stallion's having a ladies' night tonight. Jackson's such an ass," Lorena complained under her breath. Jackson Bruno was her competition, and the bar owner of the Black Stallion. They often had big nights, such as ladies night, just to pull traffic from each other's businesses. Dean shrinked down significantly in his seat, looking disappointed. "I know, trust me. So the only thing you're getting in tonight are drunks that somehow smell like the inside of a gas station after being induced in a four-hour high from the crack cocaine they managed to sneak out of their shoes, or you got divorcees looking for something to do. Take your pick, but try to keep it down. I still need tips. And yes, that includes you two. I'll be back with two beers." She took there, now, empty bottles and sashayed to the bar. God, Lorena was awesome. 

"Well, guess your plans are a bust. I'm suddenly much happier," Sam smirked smugly. Dean shot him a glare, giving him one of his favorite fingers before sitting up and fishing his own cellphone from his pocket, checking his messages. Nothing, of course. Not like he was hoping for something to pull them to another case; he was just bored. After Kitty was revealed to not be at all what she seemed, it was hard to look back on their consummation with any amount of delight. 

Lorena returned with the bottles and Sam slipped her a twenty. She winked and coyly pulled a strand of his hair, grinning as she turned away, shoving the cash down her cleavage. Dean instantly grappled for his bottle, downing about half of it when he gave the bar one more look, shaking his head. 

"We should hit the sack, Sammy. Ain't nothin' out here for us," Dean mumbled.

"First right thing you've said all night," Sam commented. 

The two finished up their bottles and got up from the booth, both waving goodbye to Lorena who just sent them the peace sign back. Together, they left the bar and approached the Impala, which Dean had parked not too far away between a truck and a Beemer. Dean unlocked the doors and slipped into the driver's side, immediately jamming his keys into the ignition and waiting for Sammy to close his door before he reversed and pulled out of the parking lot.

The journey back to the bunker took about twenty-three minutes. Sammy was, surprisingly, snoozing in his seat, leaning his head against the window. With his newfound privacy, Dean carefully took out his phone again and dialed Castiel's number, putting it to his ear before checking on Sam again to be sure he really wasn't listening. 

Like it had for twenty-three times now, Dean's call went to voicemail. He gave an aggravated sigh. 

"Cas, it's Dean. Look, man...it's been...it's been a while since we've talked, let alone see each other. You're scaring the hell outta Sammy. And, quite frankly, you're scaring the hell outta me. I don't know if it's another fight in heaven or something else, but keep us updated. Let us know you're okay. We need to be in the know, you know? At least let me know you're alright and if there's something we can do to help with...whatever you're going through right now. At the very least, shoot Sam a text." Dean paused and, at last, ended the call, successfully sending the voicemail for Castiel to hear. 

Dean was worried, too, of course he was. But he knew Sam well enough that if Dean was worried about something, Sam should be even more worried about something. And his younger brother didn't need that kind of stress. Dean glanced at Sam, who snoozed on, the alcohol enabling this, rather, healthy behavior. Sam never got enough sleep, frankly. Dean smiled crookedly, switching his hands on the wheel. Castiel would be fine, he tried to convince himself. If something was truly wrong, they'd have caught wind of it by now. And, anyway, the big bads have been radio silent, save for the little hunts here and there. Maybe Dean should take that in stride that it was going relatively okay for them for once. 

He pulled up toward the side entrance that was hidden under canopies of green and deep roots he constantly had to pull out. He pulled up beside a silver speaker with a keypad on it. Typing in the code, he watched as a door, concealed by the greenery, opened up to show him the garage they had discovered long ago. Dean pulled in, took his regular parking spot, and watched as the silver door closed, continuing to hide them in plain sight as he unbuckled himself and aggressively shook Sam's shoulder, scaring him awake. 

Sam shot forward, nearly catching his nose on the dashboard. 

"Awe, dude, what time is it?" Sam groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

"I don't even wanna know. Come on, we need to get to bed." Dean orders. "And you ain't sleepin' in Baby tonight. C'mon." Sam slowly obliged, though begrudgingly. He moved sluggishly toward the door that led back into the bunker, Dean following him with an amused smile. Sam tiredly ran a hand through his hair, coming onto the landing before the door that led them back into the bunker. Sam twisted the doorknob and began his ascend to the top landing before he'd have to cross another staircase to find himself in the war room. He could navigate to the bedrooms from there. God, this place was like a maze. 

It was at the top of this steel landing the two of them knew something was wrong. Skillfully, even with how exhausted the two of them were, they unclasped their pistols from their hips and aimed down into the war room. Dean's blood ran cold, and his eyes narrowed inexplicably. He had to assume this was Crowley's work. Or, perhaps, they were messengers of Castiel, coming to tell Sam and Dean he was okay and to stop bothering them. Instead, however, he'd treat them as the threats they were, breaking into his home with possible ill intent. 

There was one, two....five of them in total, three chicks and two dudes. Two of the girls were sitting in the chairs available. The one on the left was tanned with dark, almond shaped eyes that glared into his own as her perfectly manicured hand toyed with a strand of her raven hair that fell down her sides in little ringlets. She didn't have any make-up, save for some mascara. She didn't need it. Dean could see she was clearly gorgeous, a sight to behold in her designer clothes which consisted of a leopard print blouse, scarlet red skirt, and brown boots. The jewelry wrapped around her thin throat appeared expensive, too, as did the diamond ring on the hand she was using to play with her hair. 

The girl to her left was slightly more petite with fair skin and dark green eyes that flickered in bemusement between Dean and Sam. Her hair was blonde, contrasting her companion's, and it was pinned back with a white sash. She was incredibly pretty with a button nose and full pink lips draped in gloss. She didn't dress as exquisitely as the noirette. She had on a simple sundress in white and grey, falling to her knees and giving him a nice view of her long, muscled calves to her black flats. Her mannerisms were coy, and she was more subtle in her observing, lips parted for her tongue to run across her upper lip. Dean felt like she was reading his mind practically. 

The third girl was sitting humbly on the table, looking up at them curiously. She was fairly pretty, too, though her nose was notably a little bigger than most he's seen. Her hair was long and brown, completely straight as were the bangs that hid her forehead. She, too, didn't wear much make-up other than mascara, eyeliner and a little bit of blush to make her cheeks pop. She had her hands folded neatly in her lap, giving Dean the impression she was a prude, especially with the way she wrinkled her nose at the sight of them. She had on a neatly pressed navy blue blouse that was carefully tucked into her faded pink skirt. She wore long white socks underneath two blue flats. Prude, definitely. 

The two boys were standing close together. Dean had to guess the obvious, seeing as one of them had his arm looped around the other. 

The first one had skin like porcelain and bright blue eyes. His hair had enough hairspray to choke a small child as it kept his hair straight and in a swoop. He dressed very well for himself, donning dark blue slacks, a white button-up underneath a dark blue suit coat. He even had a black-and-white polka-dotted tie neatly falling down his chest. His companion slightly shorter with gelled black hair and an awkward smile as he held up a platter of cookies for him and Sam to see. He had on a blue-striped polo shirt with bright red capris pants and suspenders. He even had on a little red bowtie just to tie it all together. Dean looked down at their hands. Both were wearing golden bands. Married. 

The boy in the capris pants held the platter of cookies above his head. 

"They're fresh!" he said awkwardly. 

"DON'T MOVE!" Dean ordered, stepping forward, his gun still pointed. "How the hell did you get in here? What do you want?"

The five of them exchanged looks, then they all just turned to the blonde female who calmly flattened the front of her sundress and got to her feet. 

"He said don't move!" Sam yelled, glaring down at her. 

"Relax. None of us are holding anything dangerous. Blaine, put those cookies down," the blonde ordered. 'Blaine' slumped slightly, but he obliged, placing the platter down at the table and rejoining his partner. The porcelain looking boy gave him a sympathetic smile, squeezing his hand in his. "Alright, now none of us are holding anything dangerous. Look, I know how this may look, but-"

"You broke in here. What...the...hell...do...you... _want_?" Dean asked slowly, leaning over the railing as he moved the gun so it aimed right for the blonde's head. "You with Crowley?"

"Who?" the brunette asked. 

"No, we're not. We're....it's just us. We came here looking for help, albeit with...a little more force than was necessary. But I figured following you to the bar was a bit more obvious, and I didn't need us escorted out by the nearest security guard. This was the next best idea," the blonde explained, toying with her hands as she continued to approach them. "Trust us, we mean you absolutely no harm. We...I need your help. You're the Winchester brothers, right? Sam and Dean?"

Dean and Sam couldn't help but look at each other. Dean could tell Sam was just as lost as he was. Five kids, practically kids, break into the bunker carrying cookies and ask for their help? Did they somehow walk into some kind of alternate dimension? Was this some kind of prank? Dean wasn't really sure. And he didn't really wanna find out. He shook his shoulders, giving himself a confidence booster. 

"Yeah, we're Sam and Dean. Good to meet you. Now...you need to leave, while you still can," Dean sneers, his green eyes meeting the blonde's in a spiteful way. Imagine if they hadn't left Lorena's bar so soon. These kids could've robbed them blind or armed themselves up with enough weaponry to destroy the bunker from the inside-out. But they held no weapons. They just stared up at the brothers as if _they_ were the ones that were off their rocker. That somehow made Dean angrier. 

"I'm Quinn. Quinn Fabray. That's Santana Lopez," 'Quinn' gestured to the noirette who was still glaring them down like they were gum she found under her boot. "Rachel Berry." She pointed to the final girl, who smiled brightly and waved her hand exaggeratingly. Dean and Sam shared a look once more. "And Kurt and Blaine Hummel-Anderson." Kurt, the boy whose skin resembled porcelain, gave a curt nod, tightening his hold on Blaine, who seemed to mirror Rachel by waving merrily up at them. "We're...hunters, same as you. We're from Lima, Ohio. And, like I said before as nicely as I could...we need your help. We figured you two of all people could provide. We tried to find Bobby Singer but it would seem he's...unavailable."

"Quinn, quit beatin' around the bush," Santana spoke for the very first time. She got to her feet suddenly, her height shooting her about two inches above Quinn. She glared up at Sam and Dean, pursing her full lips. "We broke into your home because we figured this was the only way to get your attention and see how serious we are. And the cookies are an apology. Sorry to step on your toes, but we've run out of options, and I'm done going around in circles. We need your help because, frankly, you're two of the biggest dumbasses that just so happen to have the ammo to pretty much do whatever it is you need to do in order to win, the apocalypse being a great example. What we're about to tell you should be a walk in the park, but that can't happen until you two princesses put away the guns. We have no weapons, we're defenseless. And I'll happily twist whatever you're hiding in your pants into one giant pretzel, and I'll still get my way."

"Santana," Quinn said, grabbing her by the arm. "This is why I'm supposed to do the talking."

"Yes, because you were definitely getting us somewhere on the shakedown. He'd have put you on your ass before you could flash those mosquito bites on your chest as a white flag," Santana insulted, sashaying back to the table and taking her seat. Quinn flushed noticeably, but she kept her composure, looking back up at the brothers, waiting to see what their next move was. 

Sam glanced toward Dean. "What the hell do we do now?"

"What do you mean? We get them the hell out of here!"

"Dean...they're asking for our help, and they really don't have any weapons. Shouldn't we just see-?"

"You're not honestly taking any bull that falls out of their mouths seriously? Sam...they broke into the bunker, a bunker created to live away from civilization and go undetected," Dean hisses, before looking back down at them. "How'd you find this place?"

"Oh! That was easy!" Rachel suddenly began to speak, smiling widely. "Kurt helped me track down one of your fake aliases from the credit cards you insist on using wherever you go. Of course, you've been all over the country, but you use it more than once here in Lebanon, so I figured you had a permanent residence here. After finding the establishment you frequent on a weekly basis, we just so happened to follow you back while keeping our distance and finding the bunker that way!" 

Dean blinked several times, trying to make sure he heard all that right. 

"So...you guys are stalkers?" Sam asked. 

"Just for this one instance, I assure you," Rachel smiled weakly. "But, um...I have to say, this place is exceptionally impressive. What with the available literature, the overall...essence that the place gives off. It's clearly a place of historical importance. I especially love the table you have with the...the map." She shrunk slightly under Dean's hateful gaze. She still tried to give a smile, however, calmly folding her hands on her lap again. 

"This is getting tiresome, can't you boys come down here so we can discuss this?" Kurt asked, sounding bored. He pulled Blaine calmly to two more free seats, sitting down and crossing his legs. "Unless there's some kind of ritual we have to do just to prove to you we're not here as a threat. We're here for your help."

"Why us?"

"I guess listening isn't exactly your strong suit?" Santana asked sarcastically. "I should've figured, given the history. We chose you two dumbasses because you've constantly defied the odds with the big bads, so we figured you could help me- _us_ with our issue. It's been two months and we're running out of options, and I'm too scared to go on without just a little bit of aid because...because I don't know how long she'll be able to survive if we don't get to her soon." 

Sam, goddamn Sam, at last began to lower his gun. Dean looked at him incredulously. Traitor. He should've known. Sam's heart seemed to bleed for everyone, including hot chicks begging for help. Dean wasn't going to let up, however. He made no move to put his gun down, but he did flinch away when Sam suddenly put himself between the barrel and the kids. 

"Sammy, what're you-"

"We should at least hear 'em out, man," Sam mumbles quietly, keeping the conversation between the two of them. "They're asking for our help. They have no guns. And...the one guy made _cookies_."

"Possibly poisoned cookies," Dean hisses back. 

"Uh, no, they're just chocolate chips!" Blaine yelled. So they could hear them. Just perfect. 

Dean shook his head. "Sam, they broke into the bunker. Anyone else and we'd have taken them down."

"If they were a threat. They look like they just walked out of an Abercrombie photoshoot."

Dean looked from him down to the five below, particularly at Santana, who was sizing him up and down, her relentless glare making him feel the least bit intimidated. There was no way they would even take this into consideration. They broke into the bunker, they were the enemy. Dean should've just shot them and be done with it. Hunters, his ass. They were dressed in expensive looking clothes. They were as much hunters as he was a vegan. They were lying. Then he remembered what the Kurt dude had said about a ritual to be sure they weren't there with malintent. He looked back up at Sam.

"Fine. If you can prove to me they aren't a threat, I'll think about possibly, maybe hearing what they have to say. I suggest you grab the holy water first."

Sam brightened considerably, nodding. 

Dean sincerely wished he had taken another beer to go from Lorena. 


End file.
